


Requisite Lockdown Fic

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Longing, M/M, Pining, all those good things, communication is my kink, lockdown - Freeform, the requisite lockdown fic, wanting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24073405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Told through a series of phone calls (and one letter) after the lockdown phone callI originally posted this all on tumblr but it got pretty long and the post got tough to read so someone (very lovely) asked if i could put it on ao3, so here we are!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

The phone rang, the tone grating to all but the demon who was looking forward to it.

"Hmm?" 

"It's me- that is, it's Aziraphale."

"Yeah, I know!" Crowley snapped. He took a breath and the calmer tone sounded more forced than gentle. "Of course I know."

"It's August," Aziraphale said grandly. 

Crowley laughed with an empty sarcasm. "Are they still tracking months, then? How very Gregorian."

"Oh yes, it's all they talk about in the news. It's August now, it's warm, no one can enjoy it, what a lovely July, but now it's August."

"Slow news day, huh?"

"Slow news three months, my dear. How was your nap?"

Crowley hummed. "I didn't sleep well, really. I've been up since early July, couldn't shut my eyes. I've left bored behind completely, I'm just kind of calm now. Is this how monks feel? You were a monk for a bit, I never played in that field, is this what it was like?"

"Well, I- I quite liked being a monk, honestly."

"Of course you did," Crowley snarled. "Bet you're still enjoying all this shut-in business. Whereas I, I have organised the dust mites by size, then colour, then political leanings and killed all the monarchists."

Aziraphale's gasp crackled the connection. "You killed them?"

"Well, I put them outside to fend for themselves. They might survive. Try and move into the palace, you know, something like that."

"What if they get sick? You've broken quarantine!"

"I- I- I- I don't even know how to start on that," Crowley stammered. There was a pause full of weight as Crowley searched for something to say and Aziraphale tried to get to his point. 

Crowley broke the silence. "Why are you calling?"

"To see if you've broken quarantine," Aziraphale said tightly, "you know, like a - a cowardly demon, and I can see you have, with the letting out the dust mites and all."

Crowley's smile could be heard in his words. "You call me a coward?"

"Oh, no, not really-"

"Could've fooled me."

Aziraphale took a breath, then spoke with his words full of admonishment. "If you're sneaking out…" he trailed off, the implication clear. 

"I'm not," Crowley said firmly. "Why?" 

Aziraphale didn't speak. Crowley didn't speak. The phone line crackled with its poor connection. 

"Would you like me to come over?" Crowley pushed. "I could sneak out for that."

"Absolutely not, that's illegal still," Aziraphale said sadly. 

"Human law," Crowley breathed.

"That's the only law left."

"Ask me to come over."

Phones were gripped tighter, focuses sharpened as both men-shaped-beings waited with baited breath, neither sure what the answer would be. 

Then, "I can't," Azirpahale sighed.

"Okay. Well. I'm thinking of you."

"I'm-"

Crowley hung up.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The phone rang, then clicked as it was picked up. Crowley's intake of breath showed inclinations towards humour, or eagerness, but he was interrupted. 

"I haven't seen you in quite some time," Aziraphale said hastily. 

"You," Crowley said languidly, "haven't seen anyone in quite some-"

"Yes, but-" 

"-time," Crowley finished. He paused. "What?"

"Well, I was just pointing out that it's been a while and maybe we should meet." The line crackled as a cord was twirled nervously. "Two people can meet now, it's allowed. You know, discuss enemy operations, cover old ground, that sort of thing."

"Ten people can meet now, angel, but we have nothing to discuss. Hell hasn't been in touch. And there's no need to be secretive, if you need to say something you can tell me on the phone."

"I know, I just-" Aziraphale sighed. 

"Just what?"

"Only, it has been some time since we met."

“No need to meet for work, though," Crowley insisted. "No reason to meet at all." 

Crowley went quiet and waited, but Aziraphale did not respond. So Crowley pushed his luck.

"Unless you just want to," Crowley muttered. 

"Certainly not," Aziraphale exclaimed, nay squeaked. "I'm more than happy on my own."

"That's what I thought."

There's was a shift of movement down the line, so Aziraphale shouted lest he go unheard and be hung up on, which certainly seemed to threaten in the air.

"Crowley- !"

Another crackle of muffled movement. "Hm?" Crowley asked.

"Are you happy?" Aziraphale whispered. "Happier, I mean, I don't know if demons can be happy."

"Full range of emotions here, angel," Crowley said softly. "Am I happier what?"

"Alone."

Crowley sighed, then breathed, then sighed again. "No," he admitted. "No, I'm not."

"Why don't we go over the trials again? Just to make sure I have everything down right."

"We can do that over the phone."

"It would be simpler in person, what if there's expressions involved? And I’ve graduated to savouries, but I’m feeling rather peckish for something sweet and I’m afraid I’m out of jam sugar. All I have with me is a round of frittatas, do you have any jam sugar?" 

"No, I'm not- oh, Aziraphale," Crowley snapped. "Just say you want me to come over."

It was quiet and they both very sincerely believed that Aziraphale might actually ask. But;

"I won't lie to you," Aziraphale regretted. 

"I hope not," Crowley said, utterly miserably. 

"Good day, Crowley."

"Right."

They waited, but the connection stayed uninterrupted. Breath crackled down the line, wanting and sad.

"You going to hang up anytime, angel?" Crowley asked gently.

"I- I thought you might, you always do."

"Nah, I'm not busy. I can stay on the line."

Aziraphale's voice went cold. "Even if there's no reason to?"

Crowley chuckled, acknowledging the mild double standard. He was only as strong as he was. “So, frittatas?” he prompted.

The line died as Aziraphale slammed the phone down. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Go for Crowley," Crowley answered.

"Hello."

"Well, fancy that, are you calling me?" Crowley asked, not exactly kindly.

Aziraphale sniffed in offence. "Clearly."

"What is it?"

The line was silent for too long, but Crowley wasn't feeling like being generous so he let the silence drag on until;

"I don’t know-" Aziraphale said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. "How- Crowley-" he stopped and breathed heavily for a moment. "Can I hear wind?"

"I’m out for a walk," Crowley whispered. When Aziraphale stayed silent for a few seconds longer, sympathy overtook him and he continued, "I got one of them I've-been-immunised hats."

"The blue ones?" Aziraphale asked shakily.

"Mine turned black, issue with the washing machine I think."

"I ought to pick one of those up. We might run into each other out there."

Crowley sighed. "I’m not really in your area so much."

"So I wouldn't bump into you at St James' Park, then?"

"Not unless you arrange to meet me there."

Aziraphale's voice strengthened at last. "Well, I have no idea what you'll be up to, of course, but I intend to visit the park tomorrow. The usual bench by the ducks. Around two?"

"Sounds nice," Crowley said flippantly. "I hope you have fun."

"Do you think I might run into an old enemy there?"

"I think you only have new enemies."

Aziraphale didn't respond. Light and distant footsteps could be heard as one of them moved around.

"I was reading that passage about Ado the other week," Aziraphale volunteered to the silence. "That always used to remind me of you, but it rather makes me think of myself now."

"What are you doing reading old Bibles?" Crowley asked.

"Passing time. I'm a touch lonely."

Crowley choked, then quickly stopped choking. "They don't name her," he said loudly, like he was giving a TEDtalk. "In the Bible, you know. Just turn her to salt and move on. Her husband's wife, that's all she got." 

"Yes, I noticed that. Punished for looking the wrong way."

Crowley hummed in agreement. 

"It's been so long since I saw you," Aziraphale said, "why has it been so long?"

"You haven't asked to see me."

"I've never had to ask before, you've just always-" Aziraphale cut himself off and took a long breath. "Crowley, if you're not interested in coming by anymore I shall understand, but please do tell me now so I don't wear out my carpet worrying."

Crowley sighed had a noise in it, a kind of moan or pained exclamation. "Aah," he croaked. Then, finally, in a whisper so quiet it was only heard due to the absolute belief of both parties that it would be heard, Crowley said, "I miss you so much it physically hurts."

There was another moment, then Aziraphale's forced cheeriness broke the tension. "Then I'll be in the park tomorrow. Will I see you there?"

"No, I haven't been invited," Crowley said miserably.

"Invited," Aziraphale repeated, like the word was foreign to him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I see." Then, again, but softer, with more resignation. "I see."

"It's good to hear your voice," Crowley said.

"I understand," Aziraphale said breathily. He let out a tight breath and quite a bit more formally said, "And yours too, of course."

Aziraphale sighed again.

"Angel," Crowley pleaded. 

"Oh," Aziraphale muttered. "Yes," he said absently, then all at once and with no warning, he hung up.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


"Hello, Crowley."

"Aziraphale," Crowley greeted. "Hi."

"How are- how are you?"

"Oh, kicking along," Crowley drawled. "Stuff's looking like it's getting back to normal, comparatively."

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed. The squeak of a leather couch sounded in the near background. "One of the vacant establishments across the road was just purchased! They're turning it into what looks to be a very sweet little cafe, I'm pleased to report."

"How lovely."

"Yes, we could-" Aziraphale stopped, interrupting himself. "Oh, nevermind," he muttered. A quick breath later and he was back in it, like he hadn't stumbled at all. '"What have you been up to? No good, can I assume?"

"Assume away, you always have done," Crowley said uncertainly. "But yeah I'm, ah, I'm encouraging yoga these days. Lot of yoga in my life."

"Yoga? Why on Earth?"

"Well they're hacks, aren't they?"

"They promote fitness and mental wellbeing!"

"Load of old tosh, the lot of it," Crowley said happily. "Anyway, I've been at city council a bit getting them to lower taxes on businesses that involve yoga in their regime and that's all going quite well, really. You're not interested in this, why did you call?"

"I assure you I am, dear. Do you do yoga yourself?"

"Well, yeah, for now I do. Lead by example and all. I'm in seventeen weekly classes."

"You must be quite limber!"

"No real change." Crowley said, the words so reluctant they sounded almost swallowed. "It's fake, angel, it doesn't work. The stretches barely stretch," he grumbled.

"What a shame, I always thought that was good for you," Aziraphale worried.

"What can I say, it's a conspiracy."

"Oh, on that note, have you had anything to do with this cream cheese thing that's going on?"

Crowley made a noise that was generally negative, and a touch confused. "I don't think so? What cream cheese thing?"

"I can't find any! The shelves are bare! Even that market I like where they milk the cows there and then, they don't have any. You sure it's not you?"

"I haven't meddled in dairy for centuries, no. You still baking then?"

"Less now, there are far better bakers than I all over this city."

"Oh," Crowley said, his smile audible in the sound. "I doubt that."

Aziraphale hummed, disagreeing but pleased. "Wicked tongues lie well," he muttered.

Crowley laughed, loud and indulgent.

"I am wondering," Aziraphale continued, chuckling himself but speaking over Crowley's laugh. "If I might offer some of my goods to the cafe I mentioned, once they fully open of course."

"You're not eating?" 

"Oh, I eat plenty, but the real joy is in cleaning up after I've made a mess of the kitchen."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, you should see it! Reminiscent of that church after you blew it up," Aziraphale said widely.

"I wouldn't mind seeing that," Crowley murmured.

"Well," Aziraphale said, the word short and the enjoyment gone from his voice. "Yes, I suppose. I wasn't trying to imply that you ought to just-" he sniffed and hummed, leaving the rest of the sentence up to interpretation. 

"Just what?" Crowley asked. "Turn up?"

"No! Yes? Oh, dear."

Crowley sighed. "Did you call for a reason?"

"Just to say hello," Aziraphale said awkwardly. "Make sure all's well."

"All is well."

"Good," Aziraphale sighed. Then, "Good," he repeated more formally. And as the silence dragged on, "Good, good," he said sadly. 

"Is all well with you?" Crowley asked.

"Yes!" Aziraphale said eagerly. "Tippity top."

"Tippity," Crowley repeated, the constants hard and slightly mocking. 

The quiet between them was expectant, hopeful even. But ultimately dashed.

"I'll say farewell now," Aziraphale sighed. 

"Bye, angel," Crowley agreed, and hung up. 


	3. Chapter 3

"Crowley," Aziraphale said the very moment the phone was answered, "if you would-"

"What kind of time do you call this?" Crowley interrupted, and by all indication he was foul.

"Time?" Aziraphale repeated. "It's 2pm, Crowley."

"I was dreaming, you woke me up!"

"Really, 2pm is a perfectly respectable time to call someone, don't you shout at me."

"Oh," Crowley grumbled. "It was a good dream and all, what do you want?"

Aziraphale began to speak, but hesitated. "What's a, ah, a good dream for you?"

"Y'know, torture 'n' stuff," Crowley slurred.

"Of course."

Crowley sniffed. "Not really," he admitted.

"No, I suppose not. You're not going to tell me?"

"I was on a raft," Crowley said vaguely, his tone still affected by his recent sleep. "Middle of the ocean. There was a whale under me, somewhere deep, just sorta- sorta swimming around and being a whale."

Aziraphale sighed fondly. "That sounds-" 

"Shut up," Crowley snapped. "I was lying. Why are you calling me?"

"I had something to say," Aziraphale said slowly, with regret.

"Please, make it snappy," Crowley begged.

"I was thinking about the last time I saw you, I didn't realise then it would be so long."

"Ball's in your court, angel."

Aziraphale hesitated. "Is it?"

Crowley's sigh devolved into a crackle as he croaked his exasperation. "I'm so tired, I can't play. Look, ask me to come over and I will turn up with fucking flowers, alright? I want to be there, I just don't want to- eurggh," he trailed off again and stopped.

There was a small squeak as Aziraphale tightened his grasp on the phone. "Finish your sentence, please," he whispered.

"I always bully my way to you, ignore what you say and assume I know what you mean," Crowley said with regret.

"You're almost always right."

"Yeah, I know. I'm done talking about this."

Aziraphale whimpered. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"What did you call to say?"

"That I was thinking of you is all."

Crowley made a sound, an implacable and desperate one. "I was thinking of you too," he whispered.

Aziraphale hummed fondly. "That's a lovely coincidence."

"No, it's not," Crowley said, his tone ragged enough to be harsh, but not without kindness.

"Why not?" Aziraphale breathed.

"I'm always thinking of you, hardly a coincidence."

Aziraphale was silent, so Crowley stayed the same way.

"Still," Aziraphale said, the word quiet in his throat. "Lovely. I'd best be off."

"Flowers, angel," Crowley promised. "When you ask me, I'm bringing flowers."

"Sweet dreams, Crowley."

"Mind how you go."

* * *

  
  
  
  


To Anthony J Crowley, esq

I hope this letter finds you well. I thought perhaps this was a better mode of communication as there is less risk of waking you from a dream, although I acknowledge the risk is not zero as the postman will still have to clatter your letter box. 

Although I suppose you may not have a letterbox, what with living in an apartment. How do you take the bins out?

I have busied myself this week, I have installed an oven in a side room, not one of those new electric things, which do work very well, but a more traditional woodfired oven. It's very large, I have delivered cupcakes to my neighbour as an apology for encroaching on their space with it, but they don't seem to have noticed! Charming couple, I'm sure. 

This oven allows me to make a bread loaf I have been remembering, although I've no clue as to the recipe. Which brings me to my point in writing this letter to you. 

Not that I should require a point, I imagine. But I do. 

The loaf, as I remember, was slightly fruity but not sweet. I haven't had the like in recent years, a savoury sort of fruit, and I was hoping you might have some thoughts as to the possible ingredient. Or the treatment of the fruit, as my efforts have proven either too sweet or too, well too much like fruit jerky. In that it was chewy beyond understanding. 

I am certain orange featured, but beyond that I am simply guessing. Any thoughts are welcome.

I hope you are keeping well, Crowley. I have begun to miss you something terrible. 

Your faithful servant,

Sir A. Z. Fell


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale spoke immediately. “Crowley-”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted happily, “Your timing is remarkable!”

“Hang on-”

“I was just writing to you about that cake recipe you asked after, I think I have an idea, have you gotten any closer?”

“I need to-”

Crowley interrupted yet again, not pausing long enough to even hear Aziraphale’s efforts. “No, you're way off base here, the fruit isn't the thing, it's cardamom. Cardamom!” He laughed. “Put it in with the grain and it'll make anything taste savoury. Well, not anything, I bet, but just about anything, really.”

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale pleaded.

“Yeah? Want to know how I got that?”

“No, I wish to speak to you.”

“Because it wasn't from any book,” Crowley said, forging on regardless of Aziraphale. “I watched a whole bunch of baking shows and became an expert in bread in four days! On that note, angel, I can't believe you're installing new appliances and you've picked one from the bloody middle ages, it's plain rude to the good work I've done with Bluetooth.”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed. “What?”

Aziraphale made a noise, a sort of croak or moan. Something from deep in his throat. Then, after another quick, stabalising breath, he said, “Will you come over?”

“Are you in trouble?” Crowley asked sharply.

“No, I'm fine. I'm- I want to see you, that's all.”

Crowley hesitated. “That's all?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quickly, his words frustrated. “And I know you want to hear all about it, but really dear, how much can you expect me to say?”

“No, that’s-” Crowley paused and breathed out shakily. “That’s enough, yeah. I’ll be right over.”

“You know I’ve wanted to see you these last two years, Crowley, I’ve been as obvious as I could.”

“I know.”

“Some ridiculous test,” Aziraphale muttered, “for the power of it, just to punish me.” He trailed off.

“That’s not why, angel,” Crowley whispered. “Punished me too.”

The Bentley’s engine revved into action in the background, tyres squealing as it sped off.

“So it was self flagellation?” Aziraphale asked, slightly more loudly than before to be heard over the car. 

“No,” Crowley groaned, “no, eauhgg-”

“Go on,” Aziraphale demanded. “I’ve jumped through your hoops.”

Crowley was quiet for some time, and so was Aziraphale, waiting without breaking the building tension. 

“I just-” Crowley sighed raggedly. “I don’t want to hold back anymore, not just because it’s a habit, you know? Bite my tongue and watch what I say so closely that I barely say anything at all.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said slowly, “I hope you have a good deal to say because I’ve- I’ve missed you and wanted you for two years, Crowley.”

Crowley was quiet for a moment. “I have a lot to say,” he murmured.

“Well, would you bloody say something then!” Aziraphale shouted.

“Right, okay, yep,” Crowley agreed. He went quiet, the atmosphere tense and ready for his next words. But, “I don’t know where to start,” he sighed. 

The tires screeched and Crowley muttered, “Huh, that traffic light’s new.”

“Crowley-” Aziraphale started.

“You’re good,” Crowley interrupted, his voice a higher pitch, nervous or frightened. “Better than Heaven good, you’re  _ actuall _ y good. I don’t understand how they could look at you and not see how so very good-”

He stopped and took a breath. “You’re honoured here,” Crowley whispered, “with me, and revered, and all those sorts of things. And I’d do anything you ask, angel, anything, I just need to know you’re asking for what you want, not what's proper or - or expected, or what minimum you think you can get away with.”

The phone line was quiet, the sound of rumbling road under the car was all there was to hear. That and some ragged breathing, although it was hard to identify whose breath it was. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said shakily, “I want you to arrive at my bookshop sooner rather than later, please.”

“Yeah, I’m nearly- shit, I don’t have flowers!” 

“Oh, that really doesn’t-”

There was an almighty screeched, then a bang, then a muttered few words from Crowley that couldn’t be clearly heard but were blatantly blasphemous in one way or another. 

“-are you okay?” Aziraphale asked loudly.

“Fine, hang on, I found a flower guy.”

“A flower guy?” A car door slammed, and the line was silent. “Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. 

Silence. 

Aziraphale hummed. 

“I’m desperate to kiss you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. The phone was silent. Aziraphale’s soft, wholly nervous laugh could be heard.

A car door opened and a busy rustle of plastic and paper sounded, then the car came to life again. 

“Sorry, left the phone in the car,” Crowley muttered. “You still there?”

“I certainly am,” Aziraphale said. 

“I’m nearly there.”

“Yes, I can feel you coming. I’ll be at the door.” The phone clanged, a hollow, wooden sound, and Aziraphale’s footsteps petered off into the distance. 

The car engine slowed and quietened, coming to a stop. “Okay,’ Crowley breathed. The phone line smudged and crackled, and Crowley’s next words were slightly muffled. “There he is.”

Plastic rustled, the car door slammed, then Crowley’s marvelled tone sounded. “Hi, angel.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, his words distant but picked up by the mobile still on the call in Crowley’s shirt pocket. “Roses?”

“Yeah, I didn’t- next time I’ll bring something I grew, there are miserable.”

“They’re lovely, thank you.”

They went quiet. “What is it?” Crowley asked.

“I have something I want to do before I invite you in, just give me a moment.”

“Sure.” Crowley sniffed. “So, you having a good day?”

“Yes, yes, it’s nice to see you.”

Crowley hummed.

“Stay still,” Aziraphale said.

“Angel?” Crowley whispered, the endearment filled with confusion and overwhelmedness 

It was quiet, a rustle, a near silent snap of saliva, then a soft breath. Crowley’s heartbeat sped up, picked up by the phone which sat in his front pocket, over his heart.

Crowley spoke first, so quietly it was almost unsaid, “Oh, angel, are you-”

“Come in, dear,’ Aziraphale muttered.

“Did you just kiss me?” 

The door sounded and the bustle of the street fell away entirely. 

“Just- briefly, dear, you needn’t keep on about it,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably.

“You kissed me,” Crowley said, sounding more sure of it. 

“Do stop saying it, it makes it far too- oh, sit down, please. And wipe that silly smile off your face, would you?”

“You’re smiling too.”

Aziraphale’s voice sounded from further away. “You don’t seem displeased.”

“That you kissed me? No, can I do it to you?”

“Not- yes, but, don’t let’s make it a habit just yet.”

“It’s special,” Crowley whispered.

“I hope so.” Aziraphale voice was closer now, almost as close as Crowley’s.

“It is, I’ll make sure.”

The sound the phone could pick up was quickly muffled by fabric, the mic rustling horribly as it was pressed against. Multiple, languid seconds passed before the fabric let up and clear audio could filter through again. 

Aziraphale’s voice grew distant as he spoke, clearly stepping away from Crowley. “You must tell me what you’ve been up to- oh! I’ve left the phone off the hook, just a moment.”

“I want to see this oven room you’ve had put in,” Crowley called out, “which door is-” 

The line clicked and went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!! I had a good time writing this <3


End file.
